


Moonfall

by foxy_johnlocker



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bisexual John, Declarations Of Love, Deductions, Fights, First Kiss, Fluff, Gay Sherlock, I'm kind of a slut for Military Kink!Sherlock, M/M, Military Kink, One Shot, Realization, Sherlock is an ass, but this isn't kinky at all, of course, there's like one mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 21:02:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8637949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxy_johnlocker/pseuds/foxy_johnlocker
Summary: During a disagreement, Sherlock rather rudely deduces John's sexuality. The next morning, he realizes he might feel the same way.





	

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever!! I really loved writing this. More/better/longer stuff to come. I know it's really short but it's not complete shit, I promise. Comment please!

The morning sun filled up the sky with its rays of bright yellow and orange when Sherlock stepped outside the cabin, having dressed nicely despite being deeply broken like he always was when he was fighting with John.

***

Sherlock and John were on holiday in a small cabin in rural Italy for a few days because they had booked it for two weeks to investigate the murder of an Italian heiress, but solved it in just over one. Since money was especially tight after some arduous cases involving Mycroft’s Secret Service, John was mildly upset that Sherlock’s estimate of how difficult the case was had been wrong, and he always loved to tease him about all his blunders.  
The night before, as they walked back to their cabin from the lane, which was a ways off, John mentioned, “You did get it wrong, though, Sherlock. How long the case would take.” He laughed at Sherlock’s sour expression.  
“John, I solved the case faster than I anticipated. In the big picture… that’s good,” Sherlock muttered as he strode across the field.  
“Yeah, I know, but… This cabin was expensive. If you could just… cancel it…”  
“John, I can pay for it if it’s a problem, but this was what I had in mind from the start. I always knew the case would only take nine days.”  
“Bullshit.”  
Sherlock tried to hide his smirk. “You needed some time off. Besides, Mycroft says he has a case for me when I get back – very undesirable. I’m sick of being his little puppet!” Sherlock spat.  
“Hold on, I needed some time off? Sherlock, *time off* is when I don’t have to deal with your *massive* attitude!” John snapped.  
“Attitude? I don’t have an atti-”  
“Shut up, you do.” John fumbled in his pocket for the key to the cabin, but dropped it and had to pick it up again with a grunt before he could open the door.  
“Dropping the key. Sign of anger,” Sherlock mumbled to himself.  
John, having opened the door a bit, spun around and retorted irritatedly, “Oh, making deductions now, are we? ‘I’m Sherlock Holmes and I’m a genius and I can make all sorts of brilliant little deductions, but I can’t be bothered to watch my tongue and sound a *little less condescending* when I’m talking to my best friend.’ I see how it is. You don’t care anyway.” John stormed inside, followed closely by Sherlock. He opened his mouth to say something, but shut it quickly, deciding it better not to say anything.  
“And besides, that was a shitty deduction anyway. Of course I’m angry, but I dropped the key because I’m wearing these *bloody* gloves!” John hissed, tearing off the gloves and flinging them into a corner. Both men were on edge after such a difficult case that required them to spend long nights waiting for some suspicious individual to show their face, and this was simply the last straw for both of them. They needed to argue, they needed to vent, but not to their best friend. This was too close to home.  
“Oh, you want deductions? You want good deductions?” Sherlock snapped, hurt in his pride. There was no going back now as he spoke fast, barely thinking about what he was saying. “You’re bisexual but very insecure about it, probably because your father was an abusive arsehole, and don’t want to end up like your trainwreck sister, but really, you’re much worse off because you’re trying to hide your attraction to me but *really* failing; you think you won’t get anywhere with me, which is probably right, but you can’t quite get over me, although you’re trying, judging by your numerous girlfriends; you’re not trying too hard, though, because you can’t follow through with any of them for more than a few months, so you still have hope. You often wonder whether you’re gay because you have terrible taste in women, that’s not the case, though, you often inappropriately glance at a woman’s breasts, and if you’re wondering whether that’s noticeable, yes, it is.” Sherlock barely needed to take a breath after such an affront, just stood, poised as usual, between the sofa and the fireplace. He had known all this about John for a long time, but never really considered it worth saying to him because, frankly, why should he care? But now was the time to tell him, and he hadn’t held back.  
John was speechless and slowly sank down on the dilapidated leather sofa, staring at Sherlock incredulously. “What the fuck? Sherlock, you really are an unfeeling asshole, aren’t you? That was… *What the fuck?*” Both men were motionless in anger for a minute, staring each other down like two wolves fighting over a piece of meat.  
“John- it’s- it was-”  
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, forget it!” John stormed off into his bedroom.

***

The sun was visible between the trunks of two or three thin trees just behind the cabin, blindingly beautiful in its overpowering morning light. John had already left the cabin about an hour earlier in a huff, judging by the rumpled state of his jumper, and as he was standing almost directly in front of the sun in the chilly morning air, his silhouette was illuminated, making him look surreal, like an angel.  
Noiselessly, Sherlock moved a few paces toward him, fully intending to go up to him and apologize, then never speak of the matter again. He was convinced that one night’s sleep and a hopefully sincere apology would be enough for John to forgive such an injury. However, as he approached his flatmate and best friend, and slowly began to see his face, bright against the shadowy dawn, something struck him, and he stopped. How could he have missed this detail for such a long time? Sherlock Holmes, the famous consulting detective, overlooking a detail of his own thoughts, perhaps because it stared him in the face every time he went to his mind palace: John. *His* John. This man, this beautiful man standing in the mist, a brave man and a compassionate man, was Sherlock’s heart’s desire. He was not boring. He was not mean. He was gorgeous, he was perfect, and he hadn’t meant any harm last night. Sherlock had never considered being in a relationship, or wanting one. Sometimes he had felt some sort of attraction, but he had never stopped to think that he, often labeled a heartless freak, could be in love with someone. And he was so deeply, fully, blindly in love. It was elementary: it was childish. And yet, now that it was all coming together, he finally saw how perfectly smitten he was, and he couldn’t believe he had never noticed before. How could he have been so-  
“Stupid!” Sherlock muttered aloud.  
John turned with a start and glared at Sherlock. He rolled his eyes. “Good morning, dickhead.”  
Sherlock broke a little more inside, seeing just how much John still resented him for last night. Would John ever love him again, even just as a friend? How could he have been so careless to overlook his own feelings for John while so callously pointing out their reciprocation; even as friends, it was inexcusable to point such a thing out. Sherlock timidly began to wonder whether he could ever learn to love, and whether he was at all good enough for his beloved John Watson.  
“I’m… sorry.”  
It seemed like a rather small sentence swimming in a vast sea of silence, repressed feelings, and tension, especially in comparison to the cutting insult that had demanded it, but the truth was that Sherlock genuinely didn’t have much experience with making apologies. He always got by with a half-hearted, sarcastic excuse, and he had always assumed that was enough, but now he realized that perhaps, nothing at all he had to offer was really enough. He looked down at John with a heartbroken gaze, turning red when he felt a tear sting his eye. Sherlock Holmes was a stoic man, not one who blushed and cried over a love interest, not one who apologized timidly for an insult.  
John gave Sherlock a long look, his mouth in a taut frown. “Yeah, well, that’s great, I’m still pissed,” he said.  
“Please,” Sherlock almost whispered. He opened his mouth again, but all that came out was a sort of desperate croak.  
John wasn’t sure what to say. This wasn’t the Sherlock he knew. However, though he was taken aback, he was still supremely upset about Sherlock’s hurtful deduction, and also confused and upset, for he was not sure whether Sherlock might not even be right. “You know you’re going to have to try harder than that, Sherlock,” he said, deciding not to back down just yet, but his voice had lost some of its previous stroppy enthusiasm.  
Sherlock picked up on John’s softer tone and dared to venture a step further. “John, I really am sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. I shouldn’t have lashed out like that. If you could… forgive me…”  
A thin tear slid down Sherlock’s cheek, and John had to admit it was adorable how he tried to wipe it away inconspicuously and shape his quivering lip into a stiff line. John’s face softened a little more and he gingerly brought his hand up to cup Sherlock’s cheek. He thought of how Sherlock had saved him from a miserable, desolate life, and how he had risked everything so many times to be with John. Sherlock had always seemed like a superhuman being, a man made of steel and ice, and yet, he had shown John his caring heart right away when they moved in together. John had always been convinced that no one would ever be in love with Sherlock, maybe fascinated by him, but nothing serious – and besides that, John was very sure that Sherlock would never reciprocate his - anyone’s - feelings. It was hopeless.  
Hopeless? What hope? John was straight, and ordinary, and it was perfectly natural for him to be captivated by someone as amazing as the prodigious detective. They were best mates, that was all, and it would be weird for them to be anything more. Sherlock was probably just hopelessly sexually frustrated, and trying to convince his flatmate that he was, too. What a ridiculous thought. John hated these experiments of Sherlock’s, and whenever he strong-armed him into participating in one of them, it really irked him how unlike other best friends they were.  
And yet, there was something there that John couldn’t deny, no matter how hard he tried. Sherlock’s laugh made him giddy, and thinking of it without being there to see it made him inexplicably lonely. Whenever he thought of something romantic he one day wanted to do, he imagined doing it with Sherlock, and he couldn’t deny that he had pictured himself making love to Sherlock a few times.  
Maybe he just had to own up to the fact that Sherlock was right, like he always was, and say aloud that he was in love with him. It was true enough that John could not bear to think of a life without his beloved flatmate, and now that he had admitted all this to himself, his heart hurt to think that he could never feel Sherlock’s lips brushing across his, Sherlock’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist and never letting go. And how humiliating it was that Sherlock knew about John’s feelings for him! Nothing would ever be the same again between them with this preventing them from being close, as friends or as lovers.  
Still, John felt it would be cowardly not to declare his feelings, and if he was anything, he was brave. So, without thinking about it any more, he said haltingly, “Sherlock… You should know… That deduction you made last night. You were right. Every word.” John’s voice broke. “I… I’m…”  
Sherlock blinked a few times and moved his mouth soundlessly for a bit before he could respond. “You are?” Sherlock stared down at John, suddenly wide-eyed like an astonished little puppy.  
“I’m in love with you,” John said quickly. “There. There it is. I’m sorry. And we can keep on being best friends from now on, I won’t make it weird, I just… I wanted to be honest about this and tell you how I feel.” Silence. John’s eyes widened and absolute horror. He had been brave enough to say he was in love with Sherlock, now he had to face the consequences of being romantically interested in his best friend. What if Sherlock would never talk to him the same way again? What if Sherlock thought John was just another soppy, useless romantic who was a slave to feeling? Of course he would. It was over. Everything was over. John’s life was once again a dull one, filled with flashbacks and loneliness. He had made a mistake too grave to be pardoned. “I’m sorry,” John suddenly whispered. “I had to say it.” He swallowed hard and bit his lip. “Please forget it. Forget this happened. I didn’t mean to…”  
“It’s alright,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly, softly, almost sadly. But he wasn’t sad. He was elated. This was a dream come true, a dream kept silently locked up in his heart for years, a dream realized perhaps fifteen minutes earlier. “I love you, John.”  
John’s mind shut down. He blinked, and all of a sudden Sherlock was kissing him, wrapping his arms around his blogger as both of their heads spun. Nothing mattered in this instant, and John was convinced nothing else would ever matter again. The kiss was reckless, both of them desperate to feel what they had been longing to feel for years. This was final, this was their happy ending, and it felt so good. John wondered why this hadn’t happened sooner. “This is what I’ve lived for all this time,” he thought as he pressed his lips to Sherlock’s with tears in his eyes. “This is what it feels like to be happy. This makes it all worth it. I never want to live another second not feeling like this.”  
Sherlock drew away slightly, although the kiss seemed to linger even after their lips parted. “I love you,” he whispered again.  
“I love you too,” John replied, but he was cut off by Sherlock’s lips crashing into his again, and slowly, the fog cleared, and John was fully aware that he was kissing Sherlock. He felt another rush of euphoria and again asked himself if this was real. Just to make sure, he let his hands drift across Sherlock’s back, breathlessly grabbing on to the fabric of his deep purple dress shirt, and tangle frantically in Sherlock’s hair. He observed how soft it was, and how good it felt to finally be able to touch it in a passionate embrace like he had always fantasized about. They continued to kiss as the sun rose red and yellow, a black silhouette of two bodies entangled in a magical first kiss.

***

That night, John and Sherlock were standing outside at night holding hands and looking up at the night sky, which was beautiful and clear for the first time in weeks, just like their unspoken feelings for each other that were finally revealed.  
“It’s been a while since I’ve really been in love,” John observed after a while.  
“Really? What’s it like?”  
“It’s… beautiful. Like starshine,” John said softly.  
“Oh, just you wait,” Sherlock said confidently. “We won’t be starshine, baby, we’ll be moonfall.” And he gave John another loving, impossibly sweet kiss on the lips.


End file.
